The Long Cold Night
by Canadian Hogan's Fan
Summary: I started to scream until a knife blade dug into my throat. "Are you deaf?" he hissed. "I said shut up!"


AN: All original characters belong to me. Buh buh bu-Bing Crosby's estate owns the rest.

A war widow's life is not an easy one, especially when you have a face like a dog's and ankles that swell up to the size of small hams whenever it rains.

Now, don't bother telling me differently. It's no secret; I'm not a beautiful woman. Of course, I've always believed beauty is in the eye of the beholder, though my mama's told me more times than I care to recall beholders are blind since they don't find anything beautiful about me.

"You'd better find a way to get boys to like you, even if you have to use not-so-subtle persuasion," she said after the ones in school started stealing my lunches and calling me Fat Gerti. "Otherwise, you're going to end up an old maid, and you're too good for that."

I wouldn't have believed her, but what else could I think when she did everything short of putting a gun to Otto's back to get us to the alter before my 28th birthday?

Not that Otto was a bad man; he was quite kind to our daughter Lotte and me. But it would've been nice to pick my own husband instead of being thrown at the first boy who rented Papa's study for storage space after he died. Still, a husband found through a few boxes of business ledgers is better than no husband at all, like I have now.

Oh well, I thought, watching snowflakes whip past my front window. _It doesn't matter if you're an old maid or a widow on a night like tonight_. _There isn't enough love in the world to keep a soul warm. _I shivered and drew my wool shawl around my shoulders as a draft sent a shiver up my spine._ I hope Lotte and that Luftwaffe __Hauptmann are alright wherever they are. __They'll be snowed in if this storm keeps up much longer._

I suppose most mothers would be horrified thinking of their unwed daughter spending the night with a man, but I warned this one if he so much as tried to kiss her goodnight, I'd have her uncle transfer him to the Russian Front. Since the boy turned whiter than my best tablecloth and wouldn't even look at her as they left, I think Lotte's more likely to take advantage of him than he is of her.

I sighed. _I wish I had a man snowed in with me. _My heart smarted every time I remembered the last one, Major Karp, and the red lipstick on his cheek. I don't know which was worse, his betrayal or my thinking he would be satisfied with a woman like me. _With my luck, I'll end up being Frau Klink,_ _wife of Germany's Bald Eagle._

Don't get me wrong, Stalag 13's Kommandant has his good qualities. Once, fueled by my brother Albert's insistence, I even fancied myself in love with him, especially when he saved my life after kidnappers held me hostage at an awful hotel in Düsseldorf. He could be sweet in a spineless way, but I always suspected he only tolerated me out of fear of Albert. It's very difficult to love a man you can't respect, and I can't respect a man who won't tell me the truth, no matter who my brother is.

I turned away from the window. _Face it, liebchen, you're going to die alone, so you'd better get used to it._

"I'll never understand why men don't like me," I murmured. "My looks? My personality?" My back stiffened. "That must be it. Mama always said men don't like women who think or say too much. But how could I not do either? That was the only way I could get any attention away from Albert! Besides, not every man wants to marry a mouse, right?"

I turned on a brass lamp, a wedding present from Otto's sister, and caught my reflection in the base. _My hair isn't grey and my face isn't full of wrinkles. Surely there's still a chance for me to feel like a queen for a night, dancing in the arms of a handsome gentleman at a party. _

I closed my eyes as I rose from the couch and danced a Viennese Waltz to a tune I hummed under my breath. _See, I'm really not so terrible. _

The illusion shattered when I lost my balance as my foot caught the side table leg, setting the lamp wobbling. I sighed again and steadied it. _All this talk of love is enough to make me understand why that girl Ophelia killed herself in that awful English play_. I yawned. _I'd better fix myself a nightcap and try very hard not to think about tomorrow before I can fall asleep._

The floorboards groaned under my feet as I headed for the kitchen. "Another squeak? Honestly, this house has more creaks in it than Mama's bones." I stifled a laugh for fear of waking her in her room upstairs. I shouldn't have worried; she often slept through air raids. _If only she'd spend more time sleeping and less time nagging me about fetching her cigarettes and feeding her potato soup. _

"Silly Gerti," I mumbled. "You thought it would be easy to look after her when Doctor Hornung said she shouldn't live alone anymore. 'She won't need much,' he said. 'Just to be around her family so she won't be lonely.' That's easy for him to say. He doesn't have to listen to her complain about how the house smells like rotten cabbage whenever I make dinner and how the radio never plays songs by her favourite composers anymore."

I pushed the kitchen door open and reached for a wine goblet in the cupboard. "Don't get me wrong, I love Mama. But there are days…."

My breath fled from me when strong hands grabbed me from behind and pinned me to the counter. "Quiet, you old bag, if you know what's good for you," a male voice hissed. I started to scream until a knife blade dug into my throat. "Are you deaf? I said shut up!"

Not again, I thought, my stomach churning. _Being held hostage once a war is enough._

His breath smelt like unbrushed teeth and cigarettes. "Are you alone?"

I nodded_,_ thinking of Mama._ He'd probably cut her throat while she slept if he found out about her._

"Good." He spoke English with a muddled accent."Now, what have you got to eat in this dump? I'm starving."

I didn't turn around when he shoved me toward the icebox. _He won't keep me alive if I see his face._

"Well, what do you have?" he shouted.

I opened the icebox. "Just some sausages and milk."

"Speak English!" He jerked me around. "And look at me when I'm talking to you!"

My blood turned colder than the slimy meat in my hand. The boy—you could hardly call him a man since he still had acne scars—was American. I recognized his leather jacket as one their enlisted men in Stalag 13 wore.

_I'm going to die at the hands of this child._

He snatched the sausage and stuffed it in his mouth. "The milk!" he yelled, spitting bits of meat at me. My fingers trembled as I handed a bottle to him. I watched, afraid to move in case he used the knife in his left hand, as he drained it in three gulps. _Damn him! Doesn't he know how hard it is to get food for your family during a war, never mind feeding the enemy?_

He set the bottle down on the table. "Stop staring at me like that! I aint gonna hurt you. Not unless you give me a reason to, that is." My gaze followed the knife as he passed it between his hands. I scowled, about to scold him for his carelessness when I caught myself. His dark hair and eyes reminded me, for a moment, of a younger Albert.

He flipped the knife up in the air, the handle smacking his palm when he caught it. "Jeeze, you're a sour puss, aren't you? What's your name?"

I wet my lips and forced them to move, suddenly glad I'd learned English as a child. "Frau Linkmeyer."

He smiled. "Mine's Sargent. My friends call me Sergeant Sargent. I got promoted awhile ago, so they get a kick out of it."

I closed the icebox and moved away from him. "My brother's a general. Leave this house now, or he'll have you shot."

I expected him to bolt, or even look over his shoulder. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a cackle I feared would wake Mama. "Lady, you're a scream," he said, wiping away tears. "I've heard some pretty funny things in my life, but this takes the cake. I bet you don't even have a brother."

My heart fell."But it's true! I have a picture of him on my mantle." I headed for the living room. "Le me get it for you."

He grabbed my housedress sleeve. "Don't, lady." He twisted his face like a clown's. "I couldn't take it. I'm getting so scared thinking about seeing him." He pushed me toward the counter. "Give me a break. I just came from a prison camp where I ate food full of maggots and slept in a bed full of lice when the Kommandant wasn't throwing me in the cooler whenever he wanted a laugh. It was so bad, I didn't care that I, a claustrophobic, had to crawl through a tunnel the size of a broom closet and outrun dogs with teeth like alligators' to bust outta there. If that weren't enough, I've spent the last week hiding in alleys that smelled like the rotting garbage I've been eating. So, if none of that's scared me enough to make me change my mind about getting back to England, your brother's not going to either, especially if he's like any of the generals I've seen." He reached into the breadbox and tore a piece from the loaf. "I bet he looks like a fat toad in an uniform."

I opened my mouth, but couldn't reply. My brother _did_ look like a fat toad in uniform.

Sargent smiled as he chewed. "That's what I figured. Naw, sister, your brother's not going to do anything because he won't even know I've been here. You see, I'm tired of being out in the snow. I'd just like to spent a little time eating around a nice warm fire before I go." He looked around. "Do you have a fireplace?"

I shook my head. "Only a wood stove."

He pulled me toward it. "Good enough. Stoke it up."

I scowled as I turned to the woodpile. "Young man, I'm very tired of your rudeness. If you're going to kill me, get it over with. I don't want to spend the last minutes of my life being bossed around. I've had my fill of that looking after my mother for the last year."

He laughed. "My mom's a handful too. She's always henpecking my dad about leaving the radio on or letting the car run low on gas. He says she's going to nag herself into an ulcer one of these days."

I shoved kindling into the stove. "I suppose some things are the same, no matter where you're from."

Sargent shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so." He paused. "You speak English very well."

"I've had lessons."

He lowered the knife. "You always live in this town?"

"I moved here when I married my husband." I glared at him. "And this town is called Dusseldorf."

He nodded. "Thanks."

I rearranged the wood. "It's bad enough you don't speak German. How do you expect to escape, _if_ you could escape, when you don't know where you are and can't ask for directions?"

Sargent pulled a chair up to the stove. "I'll get by. I always do." He watched me light the wood and close the stove door. "Where did you live before you came here?"

Why is he asking all these questions? I thought. _Play along to keep him happy._ "A small village outside of Anrath. You probably wouldn't find it on a map."

Sargent sat down. "You're lucky. I've never stayed in one place long enough to memorize my address." He motioned me to join him. "'C'mon, boy,' my dad would say. 'It's a big, beautiful world out there. We can't stay here too long or we'll never see it all.' He said that a lot after the Depression hit. You ever read _The_ _Grapes of Wrath_?" He chuckled again when I shook my head. "You should read it. My family lived every word of that book."

I thought of telling him I only read books approved by the Fuhrer, but the sadness in his eyes made me stop. "I've had hard times too. Inflation after the Great War made our money worthless. It got so bad our savings were more valuable as wallpaper in our daughter's room."

He looked up at me. "Is that why you put that nut in charge—because you thought he'd make things better?" He spat on the stove. "You're even crazier than he is."

"Perhaps you'd understand if you saw the Fuhrer speak." I thought of our leader's portrait I kept in the parlour to convince company of my loyalty. "I saw him once when I visited Berlin. He spoke with great passion about our troubles and how he would restore Germany to her former glory. He had such a fire inside him; you couldn't help but be drawn to him."

Sargent held his free hand up toward the heat. "Just like moths to a flame. The trouble is it never works out so well for the moths."

I picked up the milk bottle and rinsed it out in the sink. "Surely you admire at least one American leader. What about what's his name?" I snapped my fingers. "The one who's in charge now."

He frowned. "Roosevelt? He's okay, I guess. He started a lot of projects to help people get back on their feet. My dad worked on one; he helped build Boulder Dam."

I set the bottle down on the counter. "Not unlike the Fuhrer. He rebuilt our army and created factory jobs with the re-armament."

Sargent's eyes burned with such hatred I involuntarily recoiled from him. "It's not the same thing at all, you dumb Kraut!"

I took a deep breath, remembering a tightrope walker I saw at a circus when I was a little girl. Suddenly, I appreciated how he must have felt, walking so far above the ground when one step too far in either direction would prove fatal. "Perhaps you're right, perhaps not. I won't deny there are some who take things too far, but I think that's true of any country. I believe most people anywhere are good. Sometimes their circumstances aren't so good."

He raised the knife. "Shut up! I don't want to talk anymore."

I raised my hand to my heart to calm it while I prayed Lotte would stay put. She was definitely safer wherever she was.

Seconds ticked away until he looked away. "This is a nice stove you've got here. My mom always wanted one like this. Every time we moved, my dad promised her he'd buy her one, even when we ended up in a Hooverville."

I coughed, waving smoke away. _Why is he babbling about an old stove like this? _

He swayed in his chair. "Mom likes to cook. She makes a stew that could keep you full for weeks." He leaned back in his chair, revealing a red stain growing at an alarming rate below his right shoulder.

I frowned. "Are you alright?"

He leaned toward the stove. "Mom's a good woman. She deserved better than what she got. Hell, we all deserved better. I just wish I hadn't made her cry when the cops came. I didn't steal that candy, Mom, I swear…."

His voice trailed off as he toppled over. I grabbed him before he hit the floor and laid him down. Then, I hurried to the living room and picked up the phone. "Hello, police?"

oOo

The police told me to keep him in the house and they'd collect him as soon as they could, but since they couldn't see anything outside except blowing snow, it would take them at least an hour to get here. So, I hung up and dragged Sargent to the living room so I could tend to his wounds.

I stuck my fingers into the knots in his bootlaces and worked them out. _Please, God, don't let him wake up._ _Who knows what he'll do if he does._

He didn't stir then, or when I laid him on the couch, thankfully. I wasn't strong enough to lift him all at once, so I started with his feet, which felt like bricks even without his scuffed boots. Then, I pushed his middle up as far as I could and groaned as I braced him while I pushed his upper body far enough to keep him from falling.

I exhaled heavily once he was safe. "You'd think a starving American wouldn't be so heavy." I looked at him. "Now, where are my bandages?"

My knuckles burned when they touched his forehead. His chest rose and fell so faintly I thought he'd stopped breathing for a minute. _Why am I going to all this trouble to save his life? He almost killed me. I should take a pillow and smother him, not only for the good of Germany, but everyone in this house._

I gazed at the trace of baby fat in his cheeks, which softened the bitterness I'd seen in his face earlier. _It's too bad the world's come to this. Perhaps, in another time and place, we might have been neighbours, or even friends._ I shook my head_. The war may have robbed me of many things, but it'll never take my decency. I can't kill him, no matter what he's done._

Very well, a voice in my head replied. _You won't live long enough to regret your choice._

I pushed the thought from my mind as I tiptoed upstairs and rummaged through the bathroom medicine cabinet. _Where are those blasted bandages? I could've sworn we still had some, even after the time Albert cut himself fixing the kitchen window at Mama's insistence._

I cursed when I knocked over a vial of sleeping pills, which shattered against the rusted sink. "What a mess," I muttered, stepping around the glass to fetch my broom. "I'm going to wake the whole house if I keep this up."

The house remained quiet except for the wind rattling my front window while I swept up the shards and continued searching for bandages. Failing in finding those, I tore through my bedroom closet, looking for any cloth I could part with. I paused when my fingers brushed a red and brown plaid shirt. _Otto's favourite. _

I ripped it with relish. _I always hated this one anyway. _

So, shirt strips, wash basin with cold water and iodine in hand, I hurried downstairs to dress the cut under Sargent's shoulder. I held my breath as I peeled his clothes back, wincing at the stream of blood winding down his swollen flesh. I couldn't begin to guess what had caused such an injury. The more I thought about it, I didn't want to know.

"You poor man," I murmured, reaching for the iodine. I paused. _I can't believe I said that about someone who put a knife to my throat a few minutes ago. _

He stirred when I applied the iodine. "Mom?" he murmured.

I wove the strips around the wound and reached for the face cloth soaking in the basin. "No. Just lie quietly now."

Sargent's eyes focused on me briefly before fluttering closed. "You look so beautiful, like an angel."

The freezing cloth fell from my hand and landed on the floor with a smack. Beautiful?I thought. _Of all the things to say at a time like this. _

I picked the cloth up and re-soaked it, a smile spreading across my face as I remembered the tang of my father's cologne as he held me close. _I haven't been called beautiful since I was small._

I laid the cloth across his forehead, unable to stop grinning. _Perhaps there is hope for a woman like me._

Sargent woke again when I checked his wound a few hours later. "Where am I?" he asked, wincing as he tried to move.

I sat down and placed my hand on his forehead. "You're still here with me. You passed out due to blood loss from a nasty wound. I've been looking after you since then."

He struggled to sit up. "You did all this for me?"

I nodded. "Admit it. We Germans aren't all bad."

He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the couch's edge. "Yeah, I guess. I just have a hard time believing you'd help your enemy."

I began to scold him for getting up so soon when I heard snow crunching under boots and pounding on my door. "Hello, Frau Linkmeyer. Are you there? This is the police!"

My throat went dry as Sargent's eyes filled with hatred. "You Nazi bitch!" he screamed, wrapping his hands around my neck.

Tears formed in the corner of my eyes while I fought to breathe. "Please, don't."

"Frau Linkmeyer, are you alright?" the officer outside called. "Is the American with you?"

Sargent spat on my cheek. "I knew I couldn't trust you!"

"Stop," I gasped, feeling my veins collapse under his brute strength. "You're hurting me."

Sargent squeezed harder. "I won't go back to that prison camp! I won't!"

I tried to call for Otto as my vision dimmed. For a moment, I imagined I heard his rifle cock.

"Let her go, _arschloch_*," another voice rasped. "Or prison will be the least of your troubles."

My vision cleared when I tumbled onto the floor, my chest heaving as my lungs sucked in air. I looked up at the wrinkled woman by the upstairs railing. "Mama," I croaked. "What are you doing out of bed?"

The American raised his hands and stood up. "Take it easy, Grandma, don't do anything rash. You might hurt yourself."

Mama gave him a cold stare and started down toward us, the gun steady in her liver spotted hands. "I may look frail, sonny, but I was a crack shot long before you were a glimmer in your father's eye. Get out of this house before I prove it to you."

I rubbed my sore throat. "Mama, please don't hurt him. He's only a boy."

She tossed her silver hair braid over her shoulder and adjusted her aim. "He tried to kill you, liebchen. Give me one good reason why I should let him live."

More pounding occurred. "You have 10 seconds to open this door before we break it down!"

Mama shuffled toward Sargent, who backed up to the kitchen door. "You heard him. You have 10 seconds to make up your mind before we make it up for you."

Sargent's gaze flicked between us as he ran into the door and tumbled into the kitchen table. He righted himself and fled, ramming the backdoor open with his healthy shoulder.

Just like that, he was gone.

Mama lowered the rifle as my front door caved under a policeman's boot. "About time you got here!" she snapped. "He almost strangled my daughter."

A Bismark-esq officer stepped forward, his pistol drawn. "Where is the American?"

I winced. He'd done the yelling. "He went out the back door."

He turned to the men behind him. "Schiller, Krueger! After him!" He put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll catch him."

"I hope you do," I murmured, my heart aching almost as much as my throat. _And, despite everything, I hope you don't._

The officer hurried off. "Stay where you are. I'll be right back."

"Look at the fine mess you've made," Mama huffed once we were alone. "Why didn't you have the sense to shoot him and save us all this trouble when you had the chance?"

I sighed. "Spare me the lecture. The only thing I really need right now is a drink."

She set Otto's rifle down. "Pour me one too, and make it a double."

oOo

Sometimes I wonder what became of Sargent, if he made it home and bought his mother the stove she wanted so much. Sometimes I think I don't want to know because I might not like what I learn. Most of the time I try not to think about it.

Myself, I couldn't sleep for months after that horrid night for fear of nightmares where Sargent returned to kill me. Eventually, they, like his memory, retreated from my foremost thoughts. Mama and I never told Lotte what happened, and, thankfully, she never noticed how I trembled whenever I went in the kitchen or moved the throw pillows to cover Sargent's bloodstains.

I asked Mama how she knew Sargent tried to kill me while we had a glass of schnapps a few days after our ordeal.

She squeezed my hand. "You woke me when you broke something in the bathroom. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I stayed up and listened to you and who I thought was Lotte talking. When I heard the police come, I guessed something was wrong and got the gun in your bedroom." She gave me a piercing stare. "I pity anyone who underestimates me. I've survived war, starvation and enough heartbreak to last several lifetimes. I'm not afraid of anything anymore, except losing you."

I squeezed back. "I'm glad you let him go. I know it sounds crazy, but I didn't want him to get hurt."

She finished her schnapps and let the question sit like the alcohol on her tongue before she answered. "It doesn't sound as crazy as you think. As much as I wanted to hurt him when I saw him, I could see what you must have seen in him. Underneath his cowboy attitude, he seemed like a lost, frightened child. Part of me couldn't bring myself to do it."

I reached for her. "Thank you, Mama."

"You're welcome," she whispered. "Now, what's on your mind? I can see you want to ask me something."

I settled back in my chair. "Mama, do you remember the police officer with the dark eyes and dimples?"

She stroked a few grey hairs under her chin. "The one who made calf eyes at you while he interrogated us?"

I nodded. "I'd been thinking about how nice he was, so I've decided to go to the police station and ask him if he would accompany me on a stroll next Sunday."

Mama's unibrow disappeared under her bangs. "My, how forward of you."

I rose to answer the knock on my recently-repaired front door. "Mama, I've decided it's time to find my own happiness. I don't want to end up alone, not when I still have so much to offer."

She patted my arm. "Good for you. I'm happy to hear it."

I smiled as I opened the door cautiously.

"Gertrude! Mama!" Bertie cried. "I'm so glad to see you're alright."

I returned his stiff embrace. "It's been a week since that dreadful night. Where have you been all this time?"

He bowed. "I was detained by unavoidable business in Berlin. I took the first train here after it concluded." He bestowed the same favour on Mama. "I'll make sure the police who came to your rescue are suitably compensated. It's a good thing there are men like them close at hand to protect you. Heaven knows you couldn't defend yourselves against animals like that American. You probably wouldn't know which end of a gun was up, even if you were strong enough to lift it."

I started to argue until I caught the twinkle in Mama's eye. "Bertie," she cooed. "Since we need a big strong man like yourself around to take care of us, would you mind fixing the kitchen window? It's rattling again."

Albert backed up, frowning. "I would love to, Mama, but I'm afraid I'm late for an appointment I just remembered."

She scowled. "You're going so soon?"

He adjusted his considerable bulk to kiss the air around her cheeks. "Don't worry, I'll be back for dinner."

I stifled a giggle as he put on his coat, which turned into deep laughter once he departed.

Mama snorted. "He's exactly like his father. They both made a great deal of noise when they thought we didn't need them, and disappeared whenever we needed them for something."

I poured us more schnapps. "To great men, and the greater women behind them."

She raised her glass and clinked it against mine. "To a wonderful daughter."

I smiled. "And the wonderful mama behind her."

Tears formed in our eyes as we drank.

*a German expletive


End file.
